Peter Gavin
Kent Middle School
Kentfield, California

A few weeks ago, on the radio, I heard the poet, Jane Hirshfield, say she has a theory that everyone has at least three really good poems in them. I am not exactly sure how she arrives at the number three – though three is a magic number: so many things achieve perfection in the number three. Nor am I sure how Ms. Hirshfield defines “great.” What makes a poem great? Does the reader or the author measure greatness in a poem? However one chooses to answer this question, I like the sentiment of her theory. It’s a sentiment that I, as a teacher, also subscribe to. Everyone, no matter who he or she is, or what he or she does, can write poetry.

I have a student – he’s not here today – who came up to me earlier this year and with the most sincere, troubled look in his eyes, said, “Mr. Gavin, I can’t write poetry. I just can’t.”

A lot of kids – a lot of people – feel this way. And I suppose one explanation for this mindset comes from the assumption that there is a single correct way in which to write poetry. So, when I have my students write poetry, I am emphatic that there is no such thing as a right way when it comes to poetry – in fact, for writing in general. But particularly poetry, I feel, should be an individual process.

My job is not to teach my students how to write poetry; instead, it is to expose them to as many different styles, techniques and voices as I can possibly find. And then, through hearing other poets, the students will find a voice that speaks to them; and once they understand what they like in a poem, and why they like it, they will be closer to finding their own unique voice.

So I stir them up. I bombard them with poems and flood them with possible strategies for how to approach a topic. I explain there are neither rules nor conventions for poetry. I literally tell them to throw out all the things they’ve learned about writing: don’t try to write complete sentences; don’t always provide specific examples, but keep your poems vague and mysterious; listen to the sound and the rhythm of the words you choose; use alliteration, repetition, similes, metaphors, imagery; create pictures with your words; visualize; conserve your language, for poetry is the densest of all forms of writing; don’t waste words; know why every word, punctuation mark and carriage return is there; be bold and heroic; don’t hold back; trust yourself, your voice – a poem that moves you is nothing short of great art; get inside yourself; discover your mind, your thoughts, your feelings. Unlock your soul. Let your river flow.

Every year when my students write their “River of Words” poems, we start by writing the word “water” on the board. Then we brainstorm everything we can think of that has something to do with water; and every year, year after year, we fill that board, and we realize that water is connected to everything on Earth. Water permeates our world.

And it’s the students – our youth – perhaps even more so than the adults, that realize just how important clean water is in sustaining the life of this planet. A child’s world is simpler, more fundamental – with fewer strings attached – than adult worlds. And my students are worried about the state of things today. They see what we’re doing to our planet; they see how we’re increasing the levels of arsenic in our water and co2 in our air; and their message is a simple one: water is life. If we don’t protect our air and our watersheds, life on this planet will die.

I am honored and proud to receive this award and would like to share one of my poems. It’s called “Smith River, Near Gasquet.”

Smith River, Near Gasquet

I’ve been driving for almost three hours
My back aches
Knees tight
I pull over on the wide shoulder
Step out of the car
The air is frigid
Patches of snow on the ground
An old truck rumbles by
Swallowed up by the canyon
Hush
The river below is asleep
Still and inert
A window to the rocks and sand beneath
My eyes dart upstream
A trout swims slowly
Must be over a foot in length
And for a moment I wish I had my rod
But…I continue to watch it
Carving the icy water
Edging up against a large rock
Disappearing in the shadow
Then coming clear again
Deliberate.
Enduring.
Constant.

—Peter Gavin